


Happily Ever After

by VagrantWriter



Series: Spirited Away [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Romance, Crossdressing, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Tearjerker, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: A series of semi-interactive one-shots following Theon and Robb's happily ever after.





	1. Meet the Parents

**Author's Note:**

> Plenty of people wanted to know more about what happened after Robb, Sansa, and Jon whisked Theon and Jeyne away from Ramsay's castle, so I decided to do something a little fun with it. I'll be using polls and reader responses to steer the direction of these chapters, so updates will be a little sporadic. Here's a quick one-shot to get things started.

It still felt like a dream. And didn’t feel any less like a dream when the carriage pulled around to reveal the Winter Palace—an enormous white tree, as thick around and as tall as a tower. Its branches alone were larger than the house Theon’s family had owned in Ramsgate. Lights from a multitude of windows showed the tree was alive from the inside.

Robb helped him down from the carriage, just as a light snow began to fall, bringing with it a rain of red leaves from the branches. Theon shivered, and Robb drew him in close, throwing a fur-lined cloak over his shoulders. “We will get you something warmer to wear,” the Winter Prince of the Seelie said, referring to the old burlap sack. “But first, we must introduce you to my parents.”

He trailed off, not quite able to disguise the uncertainty on his face. He looked back towards the carriage, where Sansa and Jon were exiting after them. Sansa had a similar grim expression on her face, and Jon…well, it was difficult to say, because he was _always_ grim.

“I’m sure they will love you,” Robb concluded.

Theon gripped the cloak tightly, wishing he could disappear into it.

Robb gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “You don’t need to worry,” he said. “You’re under my protection now.”

“ _Our_ protection,” Sansa amended as she and Jon joined them.

Together, they made their way up the shallow steps to the grand entrance. The doors parted before them, as if by fairy magic. Within, the great tree had been hollowed out, leaving an intimidating hall for them to enter into. Their footsteps echoed off the solidly wooden floors—wood, Theon realized, left from the tree’s original trunk. Floating chandeliers illuminated every line in its grain. A twin set of helix staircases wound upwards to either side of them, and striding down those stairs, with the click of high-heeled shoes on wooden steps, appeared the fae couple he had seen at the Queen’s ball.

The woman had Robb’s red hair and wore a dress of fish scales. She appeared largely human, save for the faint lines on either side of her straight nose. Given that she was a river fairy, Theon supposed they might be gills. The man wore all black and carried his head in the crook of his arm. Dark smoke billowed from the stump of his neck. Theon recognized him as a Dullahan from his mother’s many stories about the fae, remembering that they rode humans down on deserted roads and lopped off their heads.

Neither one of them was smiling.

With Robb standing rigidly on one side of him and Sansa on the other, he felt as if he were under guard. Like royalty. Or a prisoner.

“Theon,” Robb said, with a slight incline of his head, “may I introduce Duke Eddard Stark and Duchess Catelyn Tully of the Seelie Court.”

Theon bowed, trying not to think of how Queen Cersei had sneered at his curtsey.

“Mother, Father.” Robb took a deep breath. “This is Theon Greyjoy.”

“The man who saved me from the mortals,” Sansa added.

“Saved you from the mortals?” the duchess said. She leaned in close; the tiny gills on her nose flared. “He _is_ a mortal.”

The duke held his head aloft, moving it up and down to study Theon. “He smells of mortal rot.”

“He’s been mistreated,” Sansa said, “just as I was mistreated at the hands of the mortals.”

“I suppose that would explain his bedraggled appearance,” the duke noted, and Theon shrank in on himself, more than ever aware of his state of undress.

“He seeks asylum here at the Winter Palace,” Robb said.

“Absolutely not,” the duchess answered huffily.

“We are not in the business of taking in stray mortals,” the duke agreed.

Jon stepped forward and put a sincere hand to his chest. “Please, Duke, Duchess. I grew up with this man. I can vouch for his character.”

_What character_? Theon thought. _The petulant brat who swatted away your every attempt to befriend him_? He bit the inside of his cheek. For whatever reason, Jon wanted to help him. He shouldn’t question it.

“Of course you would vouch for him,” the duchess said. “You are a mortal sympathizer.”

“Mother, you forget yourself,” Robb said. “You are speaking to your Crown Prince.”

The duchess drew her lips into a tight line. “Begging pardon, Your Highness, but you do not know our family’s history with mortals.”

“Theon has _helped_ our family,” Robb said. “Now he needs _our_ help.”

“He saved my life,” Sansa said, her voice suddenly sharp enough to cut through the air. “Or perhaps you’ve forgotten. After all, you don’t have to see _this_ every time you look in that precious mirror of yours.” She pulled the collar of her dress down enough to expose the ring of charred flesh around her throat. She still bore the marks from Baelish’s shackles.

The duchess quite visibly flinched.

Theon realized that he needed to speak on his own behalf. It took all of his will power to lift his head and meet their gazes. “Duke, Duchess,” he began.

Their glowing eyes bored into him, more curious than scrutinizing. No one reprimanded him for overstepping his bounds, though, so he continued.

“If I had never helped you daughter, I would likely never have met the man who held me prisoner for twenty mortal years, the same man who…” His voice broke, and he had to close his eyes. He didn’t wish them to know how Ramsay had debased him, how _he_ had debased _himself_ before Ramsay. “That being said, I do not regret helping her. And I would gladly do it again, even knowing…”

He trailed off and opened his eyes to see the two of them studying him with quizzical expressions. A moment of confused silence passed, in which nobody seemed to breathe. Granted, some of those present didn’t _need_ to breathe.

At last, the duchess’s gills flared again and she turned her unnerving gaze back to Robb. “Get him situated for the time being, but keep him out of my sight until I’ve had proper time to deliberate.” And she gathered up her skirts and skittered off like an angry crab.

The duke turned his head—using his hands—towards Theon. “She likes you.”

“She does?”

He shrugged his shoulders, which looked odd with no head attached. “If she didn’t, you’d be dead now.”

Theon smiled nervously, unsure if that was a joke or not.

“Well, the wife has spoken,” the duke announced. “You’re welcome to stay at the Winter Palace.” His face grew grim for a moment, and Theon saw a distinct resemblance to Jon there—not surprising, since the duke _was_ his uncle. “But if I catch you up to any mischief, I’ll have your spine for my new whip. Understood?”

Theon nodded quickly. “Understood.”

The duke laughed. “Only joking, of course. Welcome, and make yourself at home.” With a bow, he followed after his wife.

Theon nearly jumped when Robb clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Father has a terrible sense of humor.”

“Speaking of which…” Sansa gathered herself and clipped after her parents. “I will have to inform the palace of your presence and that you are to remain unharmed,” she stated, “including any manner of prank and trick. There are leprechauns about, after all.”

“And I…” Jon scratched at the back of his head. “I suppose I will inform Queen Danaerys that the matter with the mortal at her ball has been dealt with.” He turned to go.

“You’re leaving?” Theon felt a distinct spike of panic.

Jon turned back, a look of surprise on his face. “I’ll be back.”

“He lives here more than at the Queen’s palace,” Robb said. “Shall I show you to your room? You must be very tired.”

Theon nodded.

Robb steered Theon towards one of the staircases with a gentle hand on his elbow. It was a long climb, but despite the weariness in his bones and the ache in his bandaged foot, he found it no great effort. By the time they reached the top, Theon thought for certain they must be among the branches. The hallway was round, the grain smooth where it had been carved out of the tree. The path was wide and bright and smelled of oak. Much different than the Dreafort, he mused.

They reached an ornately engraved door that also looked to have been carved from the tree’s wood. “This will be your room,” Robb said and pushed the door open.

Within lay a lavish room, all the furniture carved out of the walls themselves from the same white wood. Scenes of fairies and wild animals engaged in combat graced the walls, chiseled with skilled hands. The bed was piled high with furs, and a fire raged in the fireplace—Theon hoped the purple flames meant it was enchanted and not in danger of setting everything in this room ablaze.

Someone had left the wardrobe doors open, and Theon spied an array of fine clothing hanging there. “Please pick something that suits you,” Robb said, noticing his gaze. “Everything in this room is for your use.”

Theon took a few tentative steps forward. He felt a great…something growing in his chest, but he couldn’t name it. Mostly he felt overwhelmed.

“I hope you will be comfortable here,” Robb said.

“I’m sure I will,” he responded numbly.

“Are you hungry? I can have something brought up for you.”

Theon didn’t know how to respond. Such a simple question, and yet the answer terrified him.

“Nothing enchanted, of course,” Robb added hurriedly. “Perhaps some bread and a warm soup?”

“Yes.” That sounded nice. “Please.”

“I’ll have someone bring it up.”

“Thank you,” Theon murmured.

He swallowed around the dryness in his throat. His eyes met Robb’s, and for a moment, time stood still. The air between them crackled with a something that, again, Theon could not name. He watched, almost as if in slow motion, as Robb leaned in, and was certain he meant to close the distance between them, to take him in his arms and kiss him. Theon’s pulse pounded in the hollow of his throat as he waited.

But then Robb merely bowed at the waist. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I will,” Theon agreed absently, but Robb was already heading from the room, almost as if he were in a hurry to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my first question is pretty open-ended: Are there any side pairings you would like to see aside from Theon/Robb and Margaery/Asha? Let me know!
> 
> And thanks again for reading.


	2. To Court a Mortal I

“I don’t think Theon is happy here.”

Sansa looked up from feeding the winter birds. They always flocked to her, alighting on her shoulders and outstretched arms. Robb remembered when their bright feathers had been no match for her shining red hair; now they were so much color against her ashen skin. She turned to him, still cradling a fledging in the cup of her hands. “I’m glad I’m not the only one to notice.”

Robb ran a hand through his hair. “He’s not gained any weight; I never see him eat. He doesn’t hardly come out of his room, and when he does, he’s always so…quiet. The only time I see him smile at all is around Jon.”

“You’re jealous,” Sansa stated, gently stroking the fledgling’s head.

“I wish he would smile around me,” Robb confessed. Thinking of the smile Theon had given him as they’d driven away from the Dreadfort. “I think…I want to court him. Properly.”

Sansa graced him with a coy smile. “I was wondering when you would.”

“But I’m not sure…how do you go about courting a mortal?”

Sansa was silent, as she tended to be when she was thinking, and reached into the nearest tree’s branches to set the fledging back into its nest. “Perhaps the same way you would court one of the fair folk,” she suggested at last.

“I’m not so sure.” Robb rubbed at his shoulder. Fairy courting lasted for years, occasionally even decades. Their own parents’ courting period had lasted twenty-three years, and they had waited one hundred fifteen years to have their first child. “I’m not sure Theon has that sort of time.”

Sansa turned to look at him. Her dark hair fell like a shroud around her face. She understood what he meant, of course. “Are you sure this is something you want?” she asked. “You will only have him for a short time.”

She sounded like their mother—which could be both a good and bad thing. In this case, it might just be a good thing. Catelyn was always the practical matriarch, thinking things through, double- and triple-thinking in many cases. And of course Sansa was right. Even if Theon lived to be a hundred, it would hardly be a blip in Robb’s life.

Even so…

“It is something I want,” he said. “Very much. And even if I don’t have him for very long…I think it might make him happy.”

Sansa nodded, approval in her eyes. “I’ve read many of the mortals’ romances,” she said. “They feature us a lot, you know, the fair folk.”

Robb had suspected that if anyone would know about the proper courting methods, it would be Sansa. “What would you recommend, based on what you’ve read?”

“Mortals like grand displays of love,” Sansa said. “Woo him with an extravagant gesture, a gift greater than anything he could imagine. Make it loud and do it for all to see. That is how mortals like it in the books. The bigger, the better.”

“Oh.” Robb thought about that for a moment. “Could you give me an example?”

“Oh, you know…” Sansa shrugged. “You could go on a quest to slay a dragon and bring back its hoard of gold for him. Or you could set up a joust and claim to win every match in his honor. Or you could build him his own sprawling gardens full of his favorite flowers.”

“Hmm…” Robb rubbed his chin in thought. He didn’t think Queen Danaerys would like him slaying one of her children and he didn’t know anything about jousting and he didn’t think gardens would do very well in the Lands of Always Winter. But maybe there was something else. “Thank you, Sansa. You’ve given me much to think about.”

 

***

 

Not that Robb didn’t trust Sansa’s advice, but it never hurt to get a second opinion.

The next time Jon came by—he didn’t have long to wait; he hadn’t been lying when he’d said Jon lived at the Winter Palace more than the Queen’s—Robb took the Crown Prince aside. “You grew up with the mortals,” he stated.

Jon gave him a look first of confusion, then of suspicion. “Yes.”

“Tell me about how they court each other.”

The confusion was back. “Well…” he began slowly, furrowing his brow. “It depends on how much money your family has.”

Money? Fairies didn’t use money. “How so?” he asked in exasperation. As annoying as it sounded, he was going to have to learn some human concepts if he wanted to court Theon properly.

Jon shrugged. “If the girl’s family is rich, the boy will approach her father and ask permission to marry her. If the boy’s family is rich, the father will agree. Then there’s a marriage.”

“What? Really?” Robb blinked in surprise. “He doesn’t ask the girl herself?”

Again, Jon shrugged. “Usually not, and sometimes it’s the boy’s family that asks the girl’s family and neither one of them is involved at all.”

“Hmm…” Robb stroked his chin. Mortals were so strange. “That doesn’t sound like much of a courtship to me. More like a…transaction.”

“But that’s only if you have money,” Jon reminded him.

“I don’t have any money,” Robb said. Though he supposed perhaps mortals used money instead of magic, so that just like fairies who had more powerful magic held more influence, mortals who had more money might hold more influence as well.

“If the boy’s poor, he usually brings the girl flowers or jewelry or something to show he’s interested,” Jon said, and suddenly grew very pink in the face. “Not that I ever…you know, there wasn’t anyone _I_ ever did that with. It just seemed to be the thing most village boys did.”

“Flowers and jewelry,” Robb repeated. Sansa had said the same, but Jon made it sound much simpler. There was something strange about the language he kept using, though. “But what if you wanted to court a boy? Would you give him the same sort of gift?”

“Well…girls sometimes put flowers in the boys’ hair or give them handkerchiefs and such to show they’re interested. So…yes, I suppose.”

“And if a boy wishes to court another boy?”

“Oh.” A look of realization crossed Jon’s face. “Boys don’t really…it’s frowned on by mortals.”

“I see.” Robb frowned. He seemed to remember the issue of Theon’s interest in men as a reason his brothers had been particularly cruel to him. He hadn’t understood it then and he didn’t understand it know, but he understood that it might cause Theon to be wary of any romantic advances. He certainly didn’t want to scare Theon off.

“You’re asking about Theon, aren’t you?”

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

Jon took too long to respond. “I know he’s loved you since the day he met you. He was always going into the woods, hoping you’d show up, even when I warned him not to.” He paused and looked down at his feet, and Robb wondered if he was blaming himself for Ramsay taking Theon away. “I think, maybe, it would be better to let _him_ court you.”

“You mean…wait for him to make the first move?”

Jon shrugged. “Or at least give him permission to make the first move. After all, where he and I grew up, princes were not exactly people you could presume to court, not for people like us.”

Robb hadn’t thought of it like that. Perhaps Jon had a point. Perhaps Theon just needed some encouragement to get things moving.

 

***

 

Not that Robb didn’t trust Jon’s advice, but it never hurt to get a third opinion. Or a fourth or a fifth.

He found Arya teaching Rickon how to shift in and out of his wolf form, to very little success, while Bran sat on a tree branch in his human form and watched them. As Robb approached them, Bran’s ears twitched and he swung his head around. “I know what you’re going to ask,” he said. Bran had a habit of knowing things. “And no, I’m not going to look into Theon’s head to tell you how he’s feeling. That would be rude.”

“Of course not,” Robb agreed. The thought had crossed his mind, but he’d dismissed it almost as soon as it had appeared. He didn’t want to use magic to court Theon. Besides the fact that it felt like cheating, he didn’t think Theon would appreciate it, given all that he’d gone through at Ramsay’s hands. “But you’re always watching the mortals.” Turning into his raven form and flying close to their villages, despite Catelyn’s warnings that it was dangerous to do so. “I thought you might be able to give me some advice.”

“Good luck,” Arya snorted, pausing her lesson. Rickon had not quite mastered coming out of his wolf form and was still covered in a thick layer of fur. “He’s become so cryptic these days.”

“Look who’s talking,” Bran snapped. But then he closed his eyes, which was everyone’s signal to shut up. He was thinking. “From what I’ve seen, mortals tend to signal they want something from someone else by flattering them. Perhaps you could open with a few well-timed compliments.”

“What if he thinks I’m lying?”

“Depends, who are you talking about?” Arya asked. The question hadn’t been directed at her, but as an expert in lying, naturally she’d be the one to speak up.

“Theon,” Bran answered. “Robb wants to know how to court him.”

“Maybe you should start by asking him,” Arya said.

“What do you mean?”

Robb couldn’t see her face behind her mask, but he had the distinct impression she was the rolling her eyes at him. “It’s not often that I advocate for honesty as the best policy,” she said, “but sometimes a little bluntness goes a long way.”

“I don’t want to scare him,” Robb said.

“Then cushion it with a compliment,” Bran said.

“But don’t be too flowery about it,” Arya added.

“I think you should just kidnap him,” Rickon said.

All eyes landed on the boy, who, while they had been talking, had successfully managed to make most of his fur disappear. Now he was just left with his mischievous whiskers twitching.

“There’s a girl in the mortal village,” he said. “I’m going to kidnap her and we’re going to live in the woods together.”

“We don’t kidnap mortals,” Robb explained gently.

Rickon twisted up his face. “But she _wants_ to be kidnapped. She told me so herself.”

“Nobody _wants_ to be kidnapped,” Bran said. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be kidnapping, would it? It would be…” He paused to think. “Going away with someone.”

“But she’s not allowed to go away with me,” Rickon argued. “So she says I have to take her, and that’s what I’m going to do.” He cast his feral eyes towards Robb. “Maybe the boy you like feels like he’s not allowed to go with you, so he’s waiting for you to take him.”

“Enough, squirt,” Arya said, cuffing him on the ear.

“No,” Robb said, “thank you. You’ve all been very helpful.”

As he left them to their training once again, he found his head swimming with all their advice—make his first move big, let Theon make the first move, be upfront and honest—and wondered which one Theon would best respond to.

Or perhaps he should just go with Rickon’s advice after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's advice should Robb take on how to approach Theon?
> 
> A. Sansa: make a grand, romantic gesture  
> B. Jon: let Theon know it's okay to make the first move  
> C. Bran and Arya: be straightforward and complimentary  
> D. Rickon: Kidnap him  
> E. Other


	3. To Court a Mortal II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The results of the last poll are in and they are...interesting.
> 
> I've sort of split the difference between the two most popular choices.
> 
> There is some Theon dealing with past abuse, and some slight (very slight) d/s, but it's all super consensual and everybody's having a good time, so...y'know. Just a heads up.

Robb took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. Maybe he should have brought a present after all. His hands felt empty, and he felt a bit naked as he reached up to knock on the door.

A moment passed.

Then the door opened a crack, and Theon peered out, guardedly, shoulders hunched. The shadows under his eyes and cheeks made him appear almost frightened, and Robb hoped it was just a trick of the light. His eyes widened once they landed on Robb’s face. “Prince Robb.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” Robb said, then winced. He’d meant to start off with a compliment. “I mean, you can call me Robb. That’s fine. We’re equals here.” _Real smooth_.

Theon nodded, though he didn’t look convinced. He continued to stare up at Robb in bewilderment. “Can I…help you…with something?”

“Oh, no. I just…wanted to ask if you needed anything.”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” He drummed his fingers on the door. “Would you…like to come in?”

“Ah…yes, please,” Robb said, thinking it might be better to proceed somewhere private.

Theon stepped back to allow him entrance. Robb found the room within just as he had left it the day he’d brought Theon here. The bed looked un-slept-in, and the curtains remained undrawn. The fire had gone out, so Theon must not have asked any of the palace servants to rekindle it. Robb might have suspected the wardrobe had gone untouched as well, except that Theon had since traded his shabby rags for an actual set of clothing, if a bit on the plain side given the variety of choices Robb had provided for him.

“I hope you’ve found everything to your liking.”

“Yes, Pr—Robb,” Theon replied, closing the door behind them. He then seemed to grow greatly interested in a thread on his sleeve.

A moment of silence, in which Robb had no idea how to continue.

“You…look nice this evening,” he said.

“Thank you,” Theon mumbled, dropping his sleeve and quickly looking away.

Robb wondered if he thought that meant he _didn’t_ look nice on other evenings. “I mean, you always look nice,” he hurried to add.

Theon finally lifted his head, and a look of utter confusion overtook his face. As if he suspected Robb of lying to him.

Robb swallowed. What he really wanted to say was, _You’re beautiful and I am immensely attracted to you and also you’re very strong and brave and that also makes you immensely attractive_. Then he remembered Arya’s advice to be honest, so he did say it.

Theon just stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth hanging slightly open.

“I’m sorry!” Robb cried, realizing once he was done talking how awkward he was being. He slapped his forehead. “I’m making such a terrible mess of this. I just…I want you to know that…I…I think you truly are a remarkable person, for a mortal _or_ a fae, and that I…”

He reached for Theon’s hand. It felt like a limp fish in his grasp.

“…I hope that you know that I would never turn down any request. All you have to do is ask me.”

Theon pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned. His jaw clamped shut. “You want me to beg, is that?”

Robb’s mind hurried to find what he’d done wrong to give Theon that hateful look on his face. But he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “What?”

Theon took several backwards steps. “ _He_ was nice to me too,” he spat, “at the start. He gave me nice clothes and a nice room too. Said I deserved a reward for being such a _good person_. Said I would be treated like a prince.”

Robb realized immediately who he was talking about. “I’m not like Ramsay. I would _never_ hurt you.” Perhaps he should not have grabbed Theon’s hand so suddenly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I promise never to touch you unless you ask me to first.”

Theon gave a mirthless, barking laugh. “He said that too. And said I would beg him to touch me, to fuck me. And you know what? I did. I _did_ beg him to fuck me.”

Robb’s heart ached at the look of shame on Theon’s face, the way he hugged himself and turned away.

“That’s what you want too.”

“Of course not,” Robb said.

“It is,” Theon insisted. “Why else would you leave me alone for so long? It’s because you want me to feel as empty and cold as Ramsay did, so I’ll beg you to fuck me. You’re _just_ like him,” he said without any real venom in his voice, only defeat.

The ache in Robb’s heart gave way to anger. Not anger at Theon. Never. But anger at the man who had warped Theon’s mind so that any act of kindness would be construed as a power struggle. He wished he’d killed Ramsay. Maybe that would be his grand romantic gesture, à la Sansa’s advice—presenting Ramsay’s head to Theon. But not right now.

“I’m sorry,” he said, striding forward. Theon flinched but didn’t back away. “I’ve only ever wanted to make sure you were comfortable and happy, to make sure you didn’t feel pressured. Now I see that staying away was its own kind of pressure. And so…”

He reached out for Theon’s hand, with conviction this time, grabbed tight and pulled him close.

“I…I’m…”

He lifted Theon into his arms, bridal style. Theon yelped and his legs kicked out as he was lifted off the ground.

“I’m kidnapping you.”

“What?” Theon cried, though he seemed more startled than frightened.

“I’m kidnapping you,” Robb repeated. “U-unless you don’t want to be, of course.”

Theon stared at him a moment, then wrapped his arms around his neck and hugged tight. “I’ve been hoping you would kidnap me from the first time we met.”

With Theon’s heat pressed again him, the uncertainty on his face replaced with… _relief_ , Robb suddenly felt weak in the knees. Had he really…? Did he really mean…?

Lightheaded, he staggered drunkenly over to the bed, lest he drop Theon on the floor. Together, they fell onto the bed, Theon still clutching him. Robb felt his mortal heart beating crazily in his chest.

“You should have asked me,” he breathed into the crook of his neck. “I would have kidnapped you a lot sooner.”

“You can’t _ask_ someone to kidnap you,” Theon breathed back.

“Then how was I supposed to know?”

“Use your fairy magic to work it out.”

Robb pulled back just far enough so they were face to face. He brushed a strand of hair out of Theon’s face, studying him and all his mortal imperfections. He was more beautiful and more real than any fairy Robb had ever met. “Gods, I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

Theon batted his eyes in an overdramatic fashion. “Then do it.”

Robb shifted so they were more comfortable on the bed, and so that he wasn’t crushing the mortal beneath him—no big deal, he could become as light as the wind if he so desired. “Here’s how this kidnapping is going to work,” Robb said. “You don’t have to ask me to do anything. _You’re_ going to tell _me_ what you want me to do, and I’ll obey.”

Underneath him, Theon bucked his hips. “You’re not being the best kidnapper right now.”

“Then tell me how to do it better.”

“Kiss me,” Theon demanded, in a tone that sent blood rushing from Robb’s head to…elsewhere.

So he obliged. He pressed his lips against Theon’s, tangled his fingers in his hair. Theon groaned. A pair of legs wrapped around Robb’s body and pulled him in tight, close enough that he could feel Theon’s excitement.

They parted. Theon was breathing heavily.

“Not bad,” he gasped, with a distinct glaze in his eyes and a grin on his face. Brighter than anything he’d ever given Jon, Robb noted with a hint of triumphant.

“Then we’ll keep practicing,” he said, planting kisses over Theon’s face and neck. “After all, I’ve kidnapped you. You’re mine now. And I don’t intend to let you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Skipping forward in time, I need a wedding dress.
> 
> Here are a few options, but feel free to link to anything you want as a write-in.
> 
> A: [Tudor style](http://www.fashionsintime.com/html/lg1close.jpg).
> 
> B: [Elizabethan style](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RaKvbuwL_Zc/TbW3VwX9uMI/AAAAAAAAajE/cIOvmBb9V3U/s1600/wedding%2Bmary.jpg).
> 
> C: [Fairy style](http://www.cqfreeloop.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/fairy.jpg).


	4. A Fairy Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who are lactose intolerant should be warned that the following chapter contain copious amount of cheese. And another ship I pulled out of my ass, so sue me.
> 
> There's a moment of internalized homophobia and gender essentialism, but mostly this chapter is fluff, fluffity-fluff-fluff.

“You’re serious?” Catelyn looked up from tending her water lilies. Robb’s proclamation seemed to hang suspended above the water, making its own ripples across his mother’s river. “A courtship is one thing, but marriage is binding.”

“I understand,” Robb said.  

Cat sighed and shook her head. “You’re moving too fast. Much too fast. He’s barely lived with us for a year.”

“A year is a long time for a mortal.”

“But not for us.” Cat shot him a look and leaned into her work again, wrist-deep in the clear water as she plucked the sickly lilies from their stems. “How can you be sure you want to bind yourself to someone, let alone a mortal, in that amount of time?”

“I want to.” More than anything. Since he’d openly been courting Theon, the mortal— _his_ mortal—had begun smiling again, laughing again, putting on weight and muscle. He liked trying on clothes again—doublets and capes and dresses. During their bouts of lovemaking—Robb never would have guessed a mortal would be able to wear out a fairy—he clung to Robb like he would never let go and whispered into his ear how much he loved him.

“You want to,” Cat repeated. “Or do you feel you need to, because time is short?”

A flare of anger rose up in him. It was true that he felt Theon’s mortality careening towards him like an out-of-control carriage, but at the same time, in all his years, he had never felt anything like Theon made him feel. When they were lying in bed together, Theon holding his head against the warmth of his mortal flesh, and Robb whispering back how much he loved him.

“I’m more sure of this than I’ve ever been of anything.”

“He will die long before you,” Cat said, as if he didn’t already know. “And no matter how many marriages come after that, a mortal will always have been your first.”

“I know.” He rather liked the idea. He knelt down beside her on the moss. “Please, Mother, Theon and I love each other. I’m not asking your permission…but your blessing would mean the world to me.”

Cat paused to wipe the sweat from her brow, smearing mud on her forehead. “You’ve spoken with your father, I take it?”

“He gave his blessing.”

A smile crossed Cat’s face. “He’s always been too permissive with you.”

“I know. That’s why your blessing means more to me.”

She finally sat back on her haunches. “I still think you’re making a rash decision, but a fleeting one. And one that will hopefully make you happy in the meantime.” She nodded. “You have my blessing for your marriage, and my permission to bring as many mortals as you deem fit to the wedding, though they must all be gone by midnight.”

Robb couldn’t help himself. He rushed in and threw his arms around her neck. She guffawed in surprise as he nearly knocked the both of them into the water, then she hugged back.

“Thank you, Mother, thank you. And don’t worry. I won’t invite a whole host of mortals. There’s only one I need to invite.”

 

***

 

Theon admired himself in the mirror as Sansa finished pinning his veil. She’d done a marvelous job on his outfit; turned out she was quite the burgeoning seamstress. It had taken him a while to get comfortable dressing up again, even just men’s clothes, and even still, looking at his reflection, he couldn’t quite tamp down the voices of his father and brothers: _You look ridiculous_.

_No_ , he thought back, because he didn’t want them, _any_ of them, ruining his day, _I look fine_. The dress was impeccably tailored, the bodice tight about his chest and waist, the sleeves baring his shoulders, the skirts giving him the illusion of hips.

Sansa had intimated to him that Robb had often worn dresses as a child but had regretfully given them up when his body had become broad and unflattering for them. Theon had decided he would see Robb in a dress yet.

The flap to the tent flipped back and Jon entered. “Sansa, you’re—” He stopped abruptly, and Theon saw his face in the mirror, taken aback. Then he shook his head and finished, “Sansa, you’re needed. A certain guest requires your expertise.”

Sansa nodded and hurried away, but not before giving Theon a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder. Then he was alone with Jon.

He turned from the mirror. “How…um, how do I look?”

“You look nice,” Jon replied, but there was something in his voice. He had grown up in the mortal village, after all, and this whole men-dressing-as-women, women-dressing-as-men thing was new to him as well.

“Do you think I look silly?”

Jon’s mouth went slightly slack. Then he quickly shook his head. “No, of course not. You look wonderful. You look just like you did that night at the Queen’s ball.”

Ah.

Theon smiled and swished his skirts about. They were bulky, but made of some incredibly light material. “I asked Sansa to make it that way.”

Jon smiled, though his eyes seemed sad. “I’m really happy for you, Theon.”

“I’m happy for you too,” Theon said, “Crown Prince.”

“Eh,” Jon said with a shrug, “it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“So…are you here to give me the shovel talk? ‘Hurt my cousin and I’ll bury your body.’ That sort of thing?”

“No, nothing like that.” Jon laughed. Actually laughed. “I just wanted to wish you well.”

Theon felt tears in his eyes but quickly wiped them away. He had outgrown the shame of crying, but he didn’t want his eyes red and bloodshot when he got married. “Thank you,” he croaked.

The tent flap opened and Sansa re-entered with a strange woman in tow. Theon recognized her as a mortal right away, and though she felt vaguely familiar, he couldn’t seem to place her face. She was tall, pretty but not beautiful, though Sansa could make anyone resplendent with her dresses. She carried an infant in her arms. For a moment, Theon was truly befuddled, until the woman’s warm, brown eyes met his.

“Jeyne?” He took a step forward. “Jeyne Poole?” She was no longer the gawky teenager he’d known, but a woman fully grown.

“Theon, you look so beautiful. You haven’t aged a day.” She smiled and pulled him in for a one-armed hug. The baby whined as it was pressed between them, and Jeyne had to pull back to shush it. “And actually, it’s Jeyne Payne these days. I married my father’s apprentice and we took over his tanning business.”

“You should have told me. I would have come to your wedding.”

Jeyne blushed and smiled and averted her eyes. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You would never bother me.” Theon stared at the infant, its fat cheeks and the tufts of brown hair sprouting from its head. It had settled again peacefully into Jeyne’s arm.

Jeyne caught him looking and smiled. “He’s our second, five months old. I couldn’t leave him at home on account of not knowing how long I’d be gone…”

“No kidding,” Theon breathed. “How much time has passed in the mortal realm?”

Jeyne thought a moment. “Ten years,” she answered at last.

“I hardly recognized you.” He winced. “I mean that in a good way. You look very…happy.”

“I am,” she said. “I never thought I would be happy with an ordinary life running my father’s shop. And Pod might not be the most exciting husband, but he’s a good man.” She nodded with conviction. “Yes, we’re happy.”

“I’m so glad you could make it.” He’d missed her, he realized. They shared a connection from their time together, a deep bond of understanding he doubted any mortal or fae could truly hope to match.

“I wanted to see you before the ceremony,” she said, “since I’m supposed to leave the fairy realm by midnight and I wasn’t sure there would be any other time. I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me…back then.”

Theon swallowed. He didn’t want Ramsay’s shadow looming over this day.

“I should have done more,” he admitted.

Jeyne shook her head. “You did what you could, and it means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Theon opened his mouth to say something else—though he had not quite figured out what yet—when the baby began to cry and fuss in his mother’s arms.

Jeyne shifted him and rocked him gently and gave Theon an apologetic smile. “I need to take care of him. Robb’s seated me in the front row. Look for me.”

“Thank you for coming,” Theon murmured as Jon ushered her from the tent.

Sansa allowed an appropriate moment for him to gather himself and his thoughts, then she was pulling his veil down. “The ceremony starts in just a few moments,” she said.

Theon’s chest constricted around his heart. “Do you think I’m ready?”

She stepped back and studied him up and down, hands on her hips. “Well, you’re impeccable,” she stated, “if I do say so myself. The question is…do _you_ think you’re ready?”

He took a deep breath, forcing his chest to expand. Thinking about how long he’d been waiting for this moment. “Yes. Very ready.”

Sansa smiled. “Then let’s get you to the altar.”

 

***

 

He met Robb coming down the fork in the path, and his breath caught. Robb looked every bit a Winter Prince, dressed in white from head to toe, a fur-lined cloak over his shoulders. His red hair wild, his diadem replaced with an antlered crown. He looked like a huntsman, like the elemental protector of the forest, like a force of nature made flesh.

Theon nearly forgot to walk, and Sansa had to urge him on.

They came to the fork at the same time, and Robb held out his hand. Theon took it. Linked this way, they headed for the altar.

Knowing how lavish fairy celebrations could get, Theon had requested a small ceremony, and Robb had done well arranging it. No more than a dozen familiar faces—Jeyne and her baby in the front row, Sansa and Jon hurriedly taking their own seats—turned as they came down the flower-lined path. The altar stood under an arched yew tree, laden with ivy and roses. Sunlight streamed in through the canopy, creating beams of light for them to walk through. Up in the branches, a bird sang, but other than that, all was silent.

There was no priest, not overseer of the ceremony. Fairy weddings didn’t work that way. It was just the two of them, standing under the yew’s arch, hands linked over the little stone altar. Theon couldn’t seem to look anywhere but into Robb’s eyes.

He watched Robb’s lips move.

“You are everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I never thought I’d find, in this realm or the other. I am incredibly honored that you would chose to bind your mortal life to mine, and I promise to take care of you and cherish you until…” He choked, and for a moment, Theon thought he might not be able to continue. “Until the end of time. When all mortals have forgotten your name, I will still hold you closest to my heart. I love you.”

Somewhere in the crowd, someone sniffled. It might have been the duchess, but Theon couldn’t be sure. He was too busy trying to remember his own vow. He didn’t have anything quite so flowery prepared.

“I’ve loved you from the moment I met you,” he proclaimed. “Ever since then, you’ve been my light. I walked through a lot of darkness, but your light was always there. And now I’ve reached the light and…” Oh Gods, he was crying. “It’s everything I ever hoped it would be.”

A slight breeze swept through the forest, rustling Robb’s cloak and Theon’s dress.

“Kiss him, for crying out loud!” someone (Arya) yelled.

Robb flipped Theon’s veil back, and as one, they leaned in over the altar and let their lips touch.

A cheer rose up among the guests, but Theon was hardly aware of it. He was too preoccupied grabbing Robb’s shoulder and pulling his husband in for a deeper kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, time to explain how the kid in the epilogue was made, but I need your help. Fairy magic can do pretty much anything, so who should be the one to carry the child?
> 
> A. Theon  
> B. Robb  
> C. Some surrogate (specify if so desired)


	5. Baby Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mpreg, so please feel free to skip it if that squicks you out.
> 
> That being said, it is mpreg based on certain stories of fairies making men pregnant and female fairies being able to make themselves pregnant (no confirmed fempreg, but this is my story and we'll say fempreg is also a possibility).
> 
> Also a quick disclaimer: I don't know anything about pregnancy. I'm totally up for correcting anything that is outright wrong, so let me know.
> 
> Last note: There are a few moments of angst among the tooth-rotting fluff.

“Robb, how do two men make a baby?”

Robb looked up from between Theon’s legs. “What?”

Theon felt keenly aware he had ruined the moment, their first night together as a married couple. But, well, it wasn’t like they hadn’t already been fucking like bunnies before, and this was something he’d been thinking about, ever since he’d seen Jeyne’s baby. “I mean, I know what you told me at the Queen’s Ball, about how it’s possible for two men or two women to have a child through fairy magic. But…how does it work?”

“Well…” Robb pressed a kiss to the inside of Theon’s thigh. “It’s the same process either way. A magical spell combines the parents’ life force, and one of them carries the new life in them until it’s ready to be born.”

“Is there a ritual or…?”

Robb worked his way up Theon’s body so they were face to face, caressing Theon’s hair as he pressed him into the bed. The way he was so dominant yet gentle sent an excited shiver through Theon’s entire body. “What’s brought this on?”

Theon didn’t answer right away. “I think I want one.”

“One?”

“A baby.”

“Oh.” Robb’s face was unreadable.

“Do you…not want one?” _With me_? He didn’t ask that, though. He didn’t dare ask that.

Robb was silent a moment, then took Theon’s hand and laid a kiss on his knuckles. “You must understand, this is all very rushed by fairy standards. Give me a while to think it over.”

 

***

 

Robb took a long time to think it over. Theon bit the inside of his cheek whenever he thought of broaching the subject again. He was already hurrying Robb, he knew—unavoidable, he didn’t have a hundred years to wait for the “right time” to have a baby—and he didn’t want to pressure him on top of that. If Robb decided he just wasn’t ready for a child, and never would be during Theon’s lifetime, then…so be it.

One morning, eight months after they’d first discussed it—ironically, almost as long as it took to make an actual baby—Robb announced, “I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought, and I want to have a baby as well.”

Theon looked up in surprise, because they had been having breakfast and not discussing anything to do with babies. But then Robb’s words registered and he set his plate aside. “Are you certain?”

“I am,” Robb answered, and though Theon couldn’t quite parse the emotion playing in Robb’s eyes—it seemed almost…sad—he could tell that Robb was deadly serious. “Tonight I’ll show you how to put the baby into me.”

“What? You’re going to be the…mother?”

“It will be a lot of work to carry and birth a child,” Robb said with a wave of his hand, as if that explained everything.

“I figured,” Theon huffed, remembering every sordid pregnancy story he’d ever heard from the village women. “But is there some reason I couldn’t be the one to do it?” Perhaps a mortal’s body was simply too weak for the task?

“Well…no,” Robb said, “but I wouldn’t make you do that.”

“What if I want to?”

Robb blinked. “You…want to?”

Theon felt his face heat from embarrassment. Ever since Robb had mentioned the possibility, way back during the Queen’s Ball, he’d been…curious. What it would be like to feel his stomach and know a child was growing in there. He’d maybe even been…looking forward to finding out.

“If it’s what you want…” Robb reached across the table and took Theon’s hand. “I just assumed you’d prefer if I did it. Are you certain?”

Theon thought it over a moment. Though he didn’t need to think it over for as long as Robb had. “Promise to take care of me while I’m carrying our child?”

In answer, Robb pushed the breakfast plates out of the way, leaned over the table, and pulled Theon in for a kiss.

 

***

 

Robb said the process, strictly speaking, didn’t even require sex, but Theon wanted it that way. Wanted to feel like Robb was planting his seed deep within him to take root. And like that, on the bed in their bedroom, Robb, seated inside him, showed him what to do.

“T-take my hand…”

Strong fingers entwined around his own.

“N-now focus.” Robb groaned, a sheen of sweat on his forehead dampening his red curls. “Focus on me. Think of the best parts of me, and draw that to you.”

Theon wasn’t sure he understood.

“I’ll help you.” Robb closed his eyes, and Theon felt a tingling where their hands were joined.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking of what I love about you. How you’re brave and strong and how you challenge me and make me a better person.” He groaned. “I love how you grow and change. I love that you become more… _you_ every day. I’m thinking of that and drawing it towards myself.”

“All of that? Inside me?” Theon stared at their clasped hands, where a strange light had begun to form around him as the tingling grew more intense. The hairs on his arm stood on end. “Are you taking it from me?”

Robb shook his head. “No, just…drawing on it. It’s…hard to describe to someone who doesn’t use magic. But if you could just… _uhn_ …just focus and I’ll guide you on your end.”

Theon nodded, still not sure. But it wasn’t difficult to think of the best parts of Robb. He was kind. He cared about people, about fairness. He was a bottomless well of understanding, even when he didn’t understand. He was large and strong and protective. He was gentle and eager to please. He was everything Theon had prayed for in his previous life…in his _two_ previous lives.

Robb pulsed hotly inside him, and he clenched as energy flooded into him. He could almost understand what Robb meant, _drawing it out_.

“There it is!” Robb cried in triumph.

The energy surged and crested, and then it was gone, leaving a sort of glow in its place. Theon realized he come somewhere during the process, but this was different. A bone-deep sort of glow.

Robb pulled his hand away to reveal a glowing orb cradled between their palms. It was hardly the size of a chicken’s egg, and the light within swam and coalesced like water in a jar. “That’s our child,” he explained. “The best parts of you and me.”

Theon stared, mesmerized. Was there a little person in there?

As if reading his mind, Robb said, “It’s not realized yet.” He slowly guided their hands down to Theon’s seed-slicked stomach. “We have to put it in, so that it can be made flesh.” His eyes traveled up to meet Theon’s. “Are you sure?”

Theon nodded.

Robb smiled and pressed the orb into Theon’s stomach. It passed through him, leaving only a faint tingling chill behind. And then it was gone. Inside of him.

 _Inside of him_.

Theon’s heart kicked in his chest. “It’s growing in there now?”

Robb nodded and kissed him. “We’ve made something special tonight.”

 

***

 

Theon didn’t notice any changes for the first few weeks. Then one morning he woke up so nauseated he couldn’t get out of bed and the rest of the day lay in a sweat-soaked fatigue. Robb, who didn’t seem to have much experience with human diseases, fretted over him as if he were dying, until Sansa and Jon had to fetch the duchess confirm this was all quite normal for the early stages of a pregnancy. And that was how his good-mother found out that she was soon to be a grandmother.

She took it better than Theon would have guessed. At first she was quiet, then she spent a short moment berating Robb for acting rashly and without consulting her, and then she berated him for causing Theon undue stress during his vulnerable time, and then she ushered everyone from the room, for which Theon would be forever grateful.

He was nauseated for several days. Sansa brought him a tea to ease the pain in his stomach; he couldn’t seem to keep anything else down. And then, just like that, a switch flipped and he became ravenous. He was always hungry, and always for the strangest food. The luxury of living in a palace meant he could order anything he wanted at any time of day and the meal would be sent up to him from the kitchens.

For the next few weeks, it was a like a teeter-totter, going from being unable to eat to being unable to stop. Eventually it evened out, about the time his belly began to form.

It seemed to appear overnight. One day his stomach was flat, and the next there was a definite bulge to it. It became real for him then, that his body was changing to accommodate the baby. He lay in bed, running his hand over the slight swell, and when he nudged Robb awake to share it with him, Robb seemed even more entranced, laying a large, cool hand over his navel.

“Where will the baby come out?” Theon asked. He probably should have asked sooner, really.

“Here.” Robb drew a line across his stomach. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt you or the baby.”

Theon must have had a bewildered look on his face, because Robb kissed his jaw gently.

“Do you trust me?”

Theon swallowed. “Yes.”

“I would never let anything hurt you.” Robb kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I believe you,” Theon answered and wrapped his arms around his husband’s head to give him a proper kiss on the lips.

 

***

 

His stomach grew larger, though in a slightly awkward way to accommodate his male body. He’d never given much thought to the term “child-bearing hips,” but looking at himself in the mirror every day to gauge his progress, he thought the baby might be riding a little low. The midwife, whom he had regular appointments with these days, told him he was perfectly normal—as normal as a male pregnancy could be, Theon supposed.

Pants soon became…difficult, but Sansa was there to make him new clothes for his new body. And she was obsessed with the baby, going on and on about how Theon “glowed.” Theon didn’t feel like he “glowed,” but it was nice to hear her compliments.

“It’s a flattering look on you,” she said one day as she took the measurements to let out one of his shirts. “Pregnancy suits you.”

“You think so?” Theon ran his hands over the obvious swell of his belly. He thought he looked rather awkward and ungainly, like someone had stuck a pumpkin or something equally ridiculous under his shirt.

Sansa beamed and stood up, wrapping her tape measure over her neck. “It’s all in how you carry yourself. Bran was telling me how some of the women in the mortal village try to hide their bellies by wearing too tight or too baggy clothing. They treat it like it’s shameful or an inconvenience. But you don’t try to hide it. You’re proud that you’re having a baby.”

Theon smiled in spite of himself. “I’ve been thinking about how I’m going to give this baby a better childhood then I ever had. He’s going to grow up knowing he’s fine the way he is.”

“He’s lucky then,” Sansa said. “Even in Fairy, such an upbringing is rare.”

“And, if I’m being honest…” Theon sighed. He’d also been thinking about the look on Robb’s face when he’d agreed to have a baby, and he thought he might understand the sadness now. “I’m not an idiot. I know I’m mortal and that I’ll die long before Robb does.”

The smile faded from Sansa’s face.

Theon caressed his stomach. “I guess…I like the thought of leaving something behind for him.”

“Theon…”

He staved her off with a shake of his head. “That’s what mortals do. That’s the only immortality we’ll ever know…the people and the world we leave behind to remember us.” He stared down at his belly, and his entire being swelled with happiness. “I know that must sound sad to you as a fairy, but to mortals, it’s a very comforting thought.”

Sansa slid to her knees next to him and placed her hand over top of his. “ _I’ll_ always remember you, Theon.”

He looked up to see the beginnings of tears swimming in her eyes. “Oh, Sansa…” He was about to reach out to wipe her tears away, but then something happened. A sharp jolt in his stomach.

He lurched to his feet, hands clasped tightly about his bump.

“What is it?” Sansa asked in alarm.

“It’s the baby. He just kicked.”

Sansa stared at him a moment before understanding seemed to dawn. She began to jump up and down in place, flapping her hands. “Ooh, ooh.”

“Robb!” Theon cried. “I have to show Robb!”

He ran from Sansa’s room…well, waddled, more like. Sansa was by his side in a flash, deceptively strong arms supporting him. “This is the first time you’ve felt it?” she asked.

“Yes.” It came again. Not quite a pain, more like a muscle spasm, but unmistakably different. “Oh, it happened again!”

Sansa made a noise like, “Eeeeee,” and clutched his hand as if he had just gone into labor.

They found Robb practicing his bow in the forest. It took so aggravatingly long to find his husband, Theon worried the baby would stop before he had a chance to show him. Lucky for him, their son was as stubborn as his father—both of them—and kept at it until Theon could tear Robb’s hand from his bow and place it on his stomach.

Robb stared in confusion for a moment, but Theon could pinpoint the exact moment he felt the kick. His eyes became wide in surprise, then jumped up to Theon for confirmation. Theon nodded, and Robb’s entire face lit up.

He grabbed Theon about the shoulders and whirled him around. “We need to start readying the baby’s room.”

 

***

 

After their wedding, Theon had moved into Robb’s room, and now that his old room was empty, it was decided that would be the baby’s nursery. Ned offered to make a crib of bones from his graveyard, and Theon had been much relieved when Bran instead offered to make a crib of tree branches—apparently, his time as a raven had made him quite adept at crafting things of that nature. Cat wove blankets of kelp and seaweed that were somehow softer and warmer than any material Theon had ever felt before. Sansa made an assortment of baby clothes, more than they would ever need, but Theon didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop.

As he continued to grow rounder and rounder, his body grew sorer and sorer. His ankles swelled and his hands and feet sometimes tingled with numbness. Although he never developed breasts, his nipples grew dark and sensitive, so that even just brushing them was painful. He couldn’t get comfortable in bed, no matter how many pillows Robb piled up for him, and he longed to sleep on his side once again. The baby kicked incessantly, and Theon began to worry it might have hooves or some other animal legs that made it so strong. He felt like a swollen, overripe fruit that would burst at any moment.

And while he was often physically miserable, he couldn’t deny that the way Robb laved attention onto his stomach wasn’t touching. Robb loved to run his hands along the expanse of stretched skin, kiss his protruding belly button, talk to the child.

“I want to carry the next one,” he said.

“The next one?”

He looked so cute when he blushed. “Some day.”

Some day. With another spouse, long after he’d laid Theon’s mortal bones to rest? A brother or sister for their son. What if he married a fairy woman? Would he still carry the child then? The thought was enough to dispel the mood he’d suddenly conjured for himself.

“When will I know when the baby’s due?” Theon asked. He’d heard somewhere that pregnant women gushed water when they went into labor.

“I don’t know,” Robb said with a contemplative look on his face. “I think you just know.”

Robb was more correct than he thought.

It happened one day while Theon was reading in the library. He had grown too large to do much else but hobble, slowly, from one room to the other, and the castle had an extensive collection of books. They were mostly filled with esoteric knowledge, the history of the First King and the fairy courts, and even amusing accounts of the day-to-day life of mortals.

As Theon finished his latest book and stood to return it to its shelf, he felt a sharp and sudden pain at the base of his spine. With a gasp, he fell heavily against the shelves for support. His gut cramped, as if he were about to violently vomit, and the fiercest kick yet from inside had him doubling over.

Luckily, Bran was nearby, as he could often be found in the library when Cat grew cross at him for sneaking off to the mortal village again and confined him to the castle.

Theon barely registered Bran calling for help, being lifted and carried. The next thing he was aware of was Robb leaning over him in bed, holding his hand tightly. “You’re doing fine,” he shushed. “Do you trust me?”

It took all his will to nod, and then his head fell back on the pillow as another wave of pain swept over him.

He felt hands on his stomach. Cool, so they must be Robb’s. A voice, the midwife, giving instructions and encouragement. How many people were in the room? He was vaguely aware that he was naked and soaked in sweat.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, you’re alright,” Robb kept saying, and that soothed Theon more than any medicine the midwife could give him.

He let out a long, heavy breath, and suddenly there was a pressure in his stomach, something sliding _in_. Before he could cry out in alarm, it was gone. The pain was gone—the worst of it, at least. A sharp cry rent the air and rose into a strong wail.

“He has the winter wind in his lungs,” the midwife said.

A moment later, Robb was next to him in bed, holding out a wet, squalling baby. Theon didn’t know if he had the strength just then to hold his son, but Robb helped prop him up and they held him together as he settled down.

Theon stared in wonder at the little pointed ears.

“What do you want to name him?” Robb asked.

“You’re letting me decide?”

Robb shrugged. “Seeing as you did all the work, I think it’s appropriate.”

For the first time, Theon noticed that Robb was also covered with a thick sheen of sweat. He hadn’t seen exactly what had happened, but obviously Robb had done some work as well. He reached out and wiped the matted curls from his husband’s face. “I do have a name in mind.”

“Tell me.”

“Asher,” Theon said. “It means ‘happiness.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we'll be checking back in with Margaery and Asha. So whose POV would you most prefer?
> 
> A. Margaery: some backstory about how she ended up in the briar patch  
> B. Asha: the characters (cameos) she meets while searching for her princess


	6. Sleeping Beauty I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, guys? When it rains, it pours. Tons of work landed on my desk this week after weeks of practically nothing. I'll try to update soon, but if it seems like I'm dragging me feet, that's why. I decided to break this chapter in two and put out some options on how to continue. 
> 
> Quick disclaimer: I found the perfect fairy for Tyrion to be. Unfortunately, it's also a fairy that, in popular culture, is known for its...stature. I promise it wasn't intentional.

Asha wasn’t sure of when or where, exactly, she had picked up her traveling companion. She only had vague recollections of a drunken revelry, and then somehow he’d just…been there. And refused to leave her alone.

Fucking leprechauns.

“ _Clurichaun_ ,” he corrected her. “I’ll take wine over gold any day. My _sister_ would happily take both, though.”

That was another thing. He seemed to know what she was thinking at any given time.

“I’ll tell you about how we met someday,” he said as they walked through the forest, Asha cutting at particularly heavy foliage with her magic axe while he conveniently followed in her wake, not lifting a finger. “It was quite something. Of course, despite your bravado, you never stood a chance of besting me in a drinking contest, but the trail of drunken debauchery you left in your wake…impressive for a fairy, _utterly unbelievable_ for a mortal.”

“I’ve never been known for holding my liquor,” she grunted as she chopped at a wall of vines blocking their path.

“I _like_ you,” Tyrion said. “That’s why I’m going to help you find your princess.”

Asha paused and looked over her shoulder. “What do _you_ know about my princess?”

“Princess Margaery?” He gave a slight shrug. “She is an Unseelie princess, you know. My sister hates her with a passion—jealousy, if you ask me—and cursed the poor girl. That was a hundred years ago, of course. She will not be happy to find someone has broken her curse.” He gave her a knowing grin. “Anyone who makes my sister miserable is fine by me.”

“You really hate your sister, huh?” Though Asha supposed she could understand that. Her own brothers had been twats, mercilessly teasing her and shoving her around…until she’d grown a spine and threatened to cut their balls off with a knife. Then they’d turned their attention to Theon, who had about as much spine as a squid. Then there was her father, and the less said about him the better.

“My father was a miserable old goat as well,” Tyrion agreed.

“Don’t do that!”

He cocked his head. “What?”

“Where you read my mind.”

He shrugged. “You think very loudly.”

She grunted and continued to cut at the vines. “So…do you know where to find Margaery?”

“I might.” He scratched at his chin. “She’s a Spring Princess, so you’ll most likely find her in Always Spring.”

“And where is that?”

“That’s where we are right now.”

Asha paused to look around, as if her princess would appear out of the thick leaves at any moment.

“You’ll most likely find her in the Spring Palace. It moves around.”

“Great.”

“Spring fairies are mercurial,” he went on. “They move when it’s too rainy for them, or too sunny, or too hot or too cold or too windy or…you get the idea. You should be prepared for their moods to change on a whim if you plan on courting one.”

“Who said I’m planning on courting her? I just want to see her again.”

“See, you _say_ that, but you’re _thinking_ something else much louder.”

Asha turned and gave him her nastiest look. “I told you.” She swung her axe and the curtain of vines fell away. “Stay out of my—”

“Who are you!?” a voice bellowed from other side of the vines.

Asha spun around to see that she had not cleared a path, but rather the opening to a large cave. And sitting in that cave, staring at them with a look of mixed surprise and anger, was the largest woman she had ever seen, sharpening the largest _sword_ she’d ever seen.

Her eyes landed on Tyrion, and her lip curled in disgust. “Unseelie.” She stood to her full height, easily fifteen feet, and raised her sword. “And not just any Unseelie, but Queen Cersei’s brother.”

“The handsome one, yes,” Tyrion agreed, though he took a noticeable step back. “I suppose, since you want to kill me, that you’re rather not fond of my sister. I assure you, I’m not either.”

The giant growled and turned her gaze to Asha. “Who are you?”

 Asha raised her axe, ready to fight if things should get ugly. Though she rather hoped they wouldn’t. “We’re not here for trouble. We’re just two travelers.”

“You’re no Unseelie.” Her nostrils flared. “You’re a mortal.”

“Observant,” Tyrion muttered under his breath.

“Is that a problem?” Asha challenged.

“Depends.” The woman narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What are you doing in the fairy realm?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Asha responded truthfully.

“Her true love,” Tyrion said.

Asha gave him an incredulous look, and in return he gave her a shrug.

“Is that so?” The giant didn’t set her sword down, but the fight went out of her stance. Though Asha didn’t doubt she could easily lop both their heads off on a moment’s notice in any case. “Someone spirited your mortal love away to the fairy realm?”

“Not…exactly.”

“Her love _is_ a fairy.”

“I see.” For the first time, she seemed to notice the axe in Asha’s hands, and her eyebrows rose. “So, you’re the one who freed Princess Margaery from her cursed sleep.”

“That would be me.”

“In that case, you are no friend of Queen Cersei’s.”

“The Queen hates us,” Tyrion said. “ _Both_ of us.”

The woman gave him a sour look, and he, wisely, clamped his mouth shut.

“So…” She finally set her sword aside. “Does Princess Margaery know you are looking for her?”

“I doubt it,” Asha said, thinking of the way Margaery had vanished from the scene in a hurry. Though if she had been put into a magical sleep for a hundred years, she probably had some pressing issues to address, which explained why she couldn’t be bothered to hang around a mortal all day. Asha might not even be bothering with this whole thing if it weren’t for the _look_ the princess had given her when she’d first woken up, the way she had smiled, the way her lilting voice had said, “I will be forever grateful to you.” The way she had _returned_ Asha’s kiss, first on her cheek and then again on her lips, before turning into a thousand roses that scattered on the wind.

Asha _knew_ bluntness and _knew_ when to take a hint. And Margaery’s hint was not, “I never want to see you again.”

“I assure you,” Tyrion said, “our dear mortal here poses no threat to you or me or any fae, really.”

“Hey!” Asha hefted her axe.

“I just mean, if Margaery takes offense to being followed, she could quite easily end Asha’s life with a snap of her fingers.”

 _I suppose there are worse ways to go_ , Asha thought, though she didn’t truly think Margaery would strike her dead. Probably not, at least. Maybe 50/50 chance, at worst.

“In any case,” Tyrion continued, turning to the giant, “ _you_ should appreciate some hopeless romanticism and unrequited love, since you’re so used to barking up the wrong…” He craned his neck upwards. “Beanstalk.”

The woman’s face turned red with anger. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Tyrion took a step back, held out his hands, and gave her an apologetic smile. “He loves someone else and you know it.”

Her hand clenched around the hilt of the sword, and for a moment, Asha was sure the giant meant to murder him. Then, abruptly, her shoulders slumped and the anger on her face was replaced with sadness. Asha wondered who she loved. Some fairy man she could never be with?

“I don’t suppose you know where the Spring Palace is,” Asha to fill the awkward silence. “At the moment, I mean.”

“She knows,” Tyrion confirmed.

The giant gave him a warning look. “Yes, I know where the Spring Palace is.” She sheathed her sword into her belt. “But I cannot allow you to go there on your own. It is too dangerous for a mortal to venture through Fairy unattended.”

“She’s not unattended,” Tyrion pointed out.

“Unattended by someone with good intentions.”

Tyrion huffed.

Asha wanted to point out that she had been doing just fine on her own up until this point, but the fact was…she _was_ rather lost. Who knew how long she’d been tromping through Fairy? “I would appreciate any guidance you could give,” she said.

The giant nodded. “I am Brienne. I serve Renly, the Spring Prince of the Seelie Court. I will take you to the Spring Palace.”

 

***

 

Asha couldn’t deny the appeal of following in the wake of someone larger than herself. Brienne _trampled_ through the forest, felling entire trees in her wake if need be. Following behind her was easier than leading the way, chopping back foliage with her shitty axe, so she supposed she couldn’t hold it against Tyrion for doing the same to her earlier.

Speaking of which, now that they had a giant beating a path for them, he walked by Asha’s side, whistling jauntily to himself.

“I thought you said Margaery was Unseelie,” Asha said.

“She is.”

“But she lives in the Spring Palace with a Seelie Prince?”

“Her brother is married to him.”

“Is her brother Unseelie?”

Tyrion shrugged. “Who knows these days?”

“Can fairies change courts?”

“They can defect their own courts, for certain. Take myself, for instance. Our large friend—” Up ahead, Brienne snorted. “—technically was correct in labeling me Unseelie. But I defected many years ago—”

“Were thrown out,” Brienne corrected.

“I _defected_ ,” Tyrion sniffed. “And now…I am my own fairy. A non-trooping fairy, if you will. And we bow to no one.”

“No royalty among the solitary fairies?” Asha asked.

Both Brienne and Tyrion laughed.

“What?”

“You should know that politics in Fairy is all about power,” Tyrion said with a demonstrative flick of his wrist, “rather than blood and clout. When the First King died, he left three children: two sons and a daughter. The first son convinced a third of the fairies to come to _his_ court, which became the Unseelie. The daughter convinced another third of the fairies to come to _her_ court, which became the Seelie. And the second son convinced the last third of the fairies…”

Asha raised an expectant eyebrow.

“…that they wanted no part in the whole thing,” Tyrion finished with an impish grin. “When he tried to use his power to convince them otherwise, they put an end to him. Rather quickly.”

“By all accounts, Prince Viserys was an ass,” Brienne agreed.

“So, no, there is no royalty among the solitary fairies. And that suits me just fine.”

They continued to walk for perhaps an hour more. The sun began to set, bringing with it the chill of early spring night. Asha pulled some fairy bread from her pack and ate it; the other two didn’t seem to need to eat, though Tyrion did take several conspicuous pulls from a canteen slung over his shoulder. Just when Asha was about to suggest they stop for the night—because even if they didn’t need to rest, she was still a mortal and needed sleep—Brienne came to an abrupt stop.

“There it is,” she said, pulling back a thick bush to reveal a palace beyond.

The Spring Palace lived up to its name. Ivy covered every surface—or perhaps the ivy _was_ the surface. In any event, the castle’s towers created a series of stacked terraces overflowing with colorful spring flowers. A hundred fountains covered with golden roses burbled placidly, and the air was thick with a sweet scent. Asha breathed deeply. This was where her princess lived.

They walked up a hedge-lined path, the green creating arches overhead that Brienne had to duck to avoid hitting with her head. Small animals moved in and out of the bushes, watching them, Asha thought, but perhaps she was being paranoid. She clutched her axe closer, just in case.

Would Margaery be happy to see her? Would Margaery turn her away or, as Tyrion had suggested, kill her? The former terrified her more than the latter. What would she do if she was turned away? She couldn’t return to the mortal village—she refused. Perhaps she would seek out Theon and ask to stay with him and his new family? The thought soured her stomach. As much as she loved her little brother and was glad he was happy, she didn’t want his charity. She wanted to find her own happiness.

“Always Winter is a bleak place anyway,” Tyrion said.

“Don’t do that,” Asha hissed. “Stay out of my—”

“Ah, there you are,” a sudden voice said.

Everyone whirled around to see a figure standing where no one had been standing before.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is the mysterious figure?
> 
> A. Margaery  
> B. Loras  
> C. Renly


	7. Sleeping Beauty II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys. Here's Part II. It might be rushed in a few places, but I really did have fun writing it.

The strange man standing before them was—and Asha was not afraid to admit it—possibly the most beautiful man…hell, person she’d ever seen. Right after Margaery, of course. He looked a lot like her, in fact. Wavy brown hair, piercing greens eyes that glowed like fireflies in the darkness. He wore a crown of golden roses on his head and an eerie smile on his face.

“You are the mortal who saved my sister,” he said.

Asha quirked her eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Loras,” Brienne said, and couldn’t quite disguise the resentment in her voice.

Ah, so this was the brother Tyrion had mentioned, the one who was married to the Seelie prince… Oh. The picture was beginning to come together. Brienne loved a man who was married. Loras was married to the Seelie prince. Brienne did not seem to like him very much. The man she loved was most like the Seelie prince.

“How did you know we were coming?” Brienne said, a challenging look in her eyes.

Loras made a show of examining his nails. “Well…you _were_ stomping all over the forest.”

Brienne grumbled something under her breath.

“Actually, I’ve been watching you,” Loras said, “through my magic mirror.”

“Magic mirror?” Asha said skeptically.

“Of course. That’s how I know you intend to court my sister. So I thought I would stop you before you went any further, spare you some effort.” He let his hand drop and fixed his eyes back on them, on Asha in particular. “Margaery has already accepted someone else’s courtship.”

“What?” Asha cried.

Loras shrugged. “You’ve arrived too late, I’m afraid. Not that a scruffy mortal like you ever stood a chance with my sister.”

Asha tightened her grip on her axe.

Loras looked unimpressed. “Yes, Margaery has decided to marry Crown Prince Joffrey of the Unseelie Court.”

“My nephew?” Tyrion barked in laughter. “You don’t expect us to _believe_ that, do you?”

Loras gave him a stern look.

Tyrion’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Asha wondered what he had read in Loras’s mind to give him that reaction. “Ah, I see…” he said slowly, with an odd, sideways glance at Asha. “She wishes to take her revenge on Cersei by stealing away her beloved son. As far as plans go, it’s not bad. It will anger Cersei greatly.”

“So, she doesn’t even love him?” Asha said.

Everyone looked at her. Asha had never been one for self-consciousness, but she realized she’d just implied that Margaery would choose _her_ because of…love? What a ridiculous sentiment. She shook her head, berating herself for even thinking such a thing, let alone speaking it out loud.

“Revenge is no reason to marry someone,” she said, trying to correct her mistake. “It’s a recipe for a miserable marriage, and Margaery deserves much better.”

Loras smirked. “Like you, perhaps?”

“I never said I was going to marry her,” Asha cried. “But at least I’m not the son of the bitch who cursed her to sleep for a hundred years. Does this Joffrey guy care about her at all…or is he just using her like she’s using him?”

“Knowing my nephew,” Tyrion said, “the latter.”

“Every story I’ve ever heard is that Prince Joffrey loves himself and no one else,” Brienne agreed. “His cruelty is legendary, even among the fair folk.”

“Margaery can take care for herself,” Loras said, arms folded over his chest.

“I want to speak with her,” Asha said.

“Why? You intend to talk her out of this marriage?”

“Yes.” Asha took a meaningful step towards him. “She cannot shackle herself to a cruel man. My mother was shackled to a cruel man, and it robbed her of happiness that should have been hers.” She gritted her teeth, thinking about how Balon had constantly put Alanys down, belittled her in front of family, neighbors, and strangers alike. How he had rewarded the same behaviors in Maron and Rodrik and scoffed at any kindness she and Theon had shown their mother, calling them weak and womanish. “If she wants to hurt Cersei so badly, I will personally go chop her son’s head off.” She hefted her axe. “But I won’t allow her to bind herself to someone like that in the name of revenge.”

Loras raised his eyebrows. “You…would kill the Crown Prince?”

“Why not?”

“He would kill you before you got within ten paces of him.”

Asha shrugged. “You shouldn’t underestimate me.”

“You shouldn’t,” Tyrion agreed.

Loras snorted.

“Tell you what.” Asha swung her axe around. “Since you think I’m not match for a fairy…if I can best you in a fair fight, weapon-to-weapon, you have to take me to Margaery.”

Loras’s grin turned wicked. “I accept your challenge, though it won’t be a fair match, by its very nature.” He waved his hand and a sword appeared out of thin air, gleaming silver. “And what if _I_ best _you_?”

“If you don’t kill me…” Asha looked at her new companions. “I’ll promise to leave Always Spring and never seek your sister out again.”

“It’s a deal.” Loras swung his sword about. It swished through the air with a grace no human swordsman could hope to match.

Asha tested the weight of her axe. It was heavy and cumbersome. The edge was not very sharp. And to top it all off, it was made of gold, easily the worst metal for any weapon. Not that any of that mattered, because it wasn’t going to be her weapon of choice. “All I have to do is get you to yield.”

Loras scoffed. “I’m afraid _you’ll_ be the one yielding, unless I get carried away and take your head off your shoulders,” he added with a casual shrug. “I promise to _try_ not to kill you. Or harm you too badly. It will be difficult reminding myself of your delicate mortal constitution.”

“And to be clear,” Asha said, “I can use any weapon I see fit? Even this?” She pulled her trusty knife from her belt, the very one she had threatened to cut Maron and Rodrik with when she was a little girl. A gift from her dear old Uncle Euron, may he rot wherever he was.

Loras quirked an eyebrow at the tiny little knife, fit more for a child’s hand than an adult’s. “You can use any and all weapons you like,” he said. “It won’t make any difference.”

Asha grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She held out her axe towards the nearest hedge. The leaves were long and lush all up and down the row, leading all the way to the palace. She raised her little knife and struck the axe’s edge, sliding the flint-like blade of the former against the hard surface of the latter. A small spark appeared.

“What are you doing?” Loras asked, a tone of alarm in his voice.

“Getting my weapon ready,” Asha replied blandly, striking the axe again. This time, the spark landed amidst the leaves.

“Stop that!” Loras demanded. “You’ll set the hedge on fire.”

“That’s the idea.” She struck again, just because she could. The leaf began to blacken and smoke. She blew on it the fan the flame into existence.

Loras flew at her with a wild cry, swinging his sword frantically. Asha plucked the smoking leaf and rolled out of the way just in time, though as she popped back up, she thought perhaps he had taken more than a few hairs off her head. Still, she was lucky and would likely not be able to dodge a second attack. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to.

She brandished the leaf in her hand as the fire took old. “Take one step closer and I’m tossing this in there.” She pointed to the hedge. All of it. Surrounding them from every angle.

A look of pure panic came over Loras’s face. “You’ll burn everything down.”

The fire was quickly eating away at the leaf, so she had to pluck another one to keep it going before it reached her fingers. “Ah, you don’t like my weapon,” she said. “I don’t blame you. My mother told me stories of dryads when I was little. She said that even though you look human, you are, in fact, made out of tree bark and will go up in flames quite easily.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Loras bit back, “you’re made of flesh, which might not burn as quickly as bark but still burns. You’ll kill yourself.”

“Eh.” Asha shrugged, taking another leaf to keep her weapon ablaze. “You can stop it, if you want. All you have to do is yield.”

“You’re insane!”

“Yield!”

She held the fire out towards the hedge. The flames licked hungrily towards anything it could catch.

Loras held out a hand. “Fine, I yield!”

“You promise to take me to Margaery?”

“I promise. Just…put that damn thing out!”

Asha smirked. She dropped the leaf to the gravel road and stomped it out with her boot.

A look of vast relief came over Loras’s face, and then he began to laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’ll do.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Asha demanded.

“Oh, for gods’ sake,” Tyrion said, taking another nip from his flask. “He’s been testing you this entire time.”

“What?”

 “Margaery’s not really planning on marrying Joffrey,” he explained. “It was a poorly thought out ruse to see if you were willing to fight for his sister.” He shook his head and pocketed the flask. “I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner.”

Asha looked from Tyrion to Loras. “Are you shitting me?” she cried in disgust.

Loras held his hands up disarmingly. Literally. The sword vanished. “I had to make sure you had Margaery’s best interests at heart.”

“By lying to me and challenging me to a duel?”

“ _You_ challenged _me_ to a duel,” Loras said, that same knowing smirk appearing on his face. Asha wanted to slap it off him. “I must admit, I did underestimate you. I imagine that if there was a mortal who could somehow assassinate Prince Joffrey, it would be you.”

Asha sighed. With praise like that, she couldn’t really stay mad at him. “Are you going to take me to Margaery or what?”

“Of course. This way.”

 

***

 

He led them to the Spring Palace, up countless stone steps overgrowing with vines and flowers, until they reached the tallest tower. The entirety of Always Spring lay out before them, a radiant carpet of green hills and valleys, rampant with waterfalls and ever-blooming flowers. And yet Asha only had eyes for the figure standing at the very edge of the terrace, her back turned to them, waves of soft brown curls billowing in the wind.

“Princess.”

Margaery turned. She was just as perfect as Asha remembered, her eyes just as green, her lips just as red. And that look…Asha _hadn’t_ imagined it.

“You found me,” she said with a mischievous smile, walking over to greet them.

“With a little help,” Asha said, gesturing to her news friends.

Margaery nodded to Brienne and Tyrion before turning the full weight of her attention back on Asha. “Not just anyone could have broken Cersei’s spell, you know. Only a true love’s kiss could have woken me.”

“I don’t believe in true love,” Asha admitted.

Margaery smiled and brushed her cheek. Her hand was soft and smelled of lavender. “Yours was the first face I’d seen in a hundred years. I think I had no choice but to fall in love with you. But…” Her voice trailed off. “You are mortal. I am fae.”

Asha shrugged. “I won’t hold it against you if you won’t.”

Margaery shook her head. “I mean, I knew I could not force you to join me. I have powerful enemies. When Cersei realizes that her spell has been broken, she will be angry. You have already put yourself in great danger by seeking me out again.”

Asha laughed. “I’m always putting myself in danger. I don’t care about some old bitch. You’re the single most fascinating person I’ve ever met, and I’d be a fool to let you get away.”

Margaery shot a glance at Loras. “Well, if my brother has not scared you away…”

“I have an idiot brother too,” Asha replied.

“Well then, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” Margaery turned back to the others, spreading her arms wide. “All of you.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Brienne said with a bow that still had her towering over everyone else, “but I should be on my way. I know when I am not wanted.” She cast a resentful glare at Loras.

“Nonsense, Lady Brienne,” Margaery said. “You are always welcome at the Spring Palace. Prince Renly will return by sunrise, if you’d like to wait for him.”

“I think I would rather be out of here before Prince Renly returns,” Tyrion spoke up. “No offense to either of you, it’s a Seelie thing.” He nudged Brienne’s knee. “Say, I don’t suppose you would like to join me for an adventure? I was thinking of visiting my brother in Always Summer.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “I am not an escort service.”

“Come on,” Tyrion prodded. “I’ll pay you in alcohol. All you can drink. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t have fun.”

“Then I’ll teach you.”

Bickering, they walked off together.

“Well,” Loras said, “I suppose I should make sure they get off the premises. I don’t relish the thought of a rogue clurichaun lurking around.” And with that, he jaunted off as well.

Asha found herself alone with her princess. Practically the only thing she’d wanted since their eyes had first met in that briar patch. Tentatively, she reached out a hand for Margaery’s.

Margaery saw her, swatted the hand away, and grabbed Asha by the shoulders. With deceptive strength, she pulled her in and planted her bright red lips against her mouth. Electricity like a spring rainstorm raced through Asha’s body. She couldn’t move for a moment, too shocked by her princess’s forthrightness. And that…was that a _tongue_ in her mouth? And was that…a _hand_ on her ass?

The shock wore off quickly, and Asha found her fingers running through Margaery’s long hair, returning the kiss with all the intensity she had. When they finally parted, she wasn’t the only one panting. Margaery had a lovely red blush across her cheeks.

“You really are a good kisser,” Margaery breathed.

“Princess.” Asha grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in close. “You haven’t seen _anything_ yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we go back to Theon and Robb to deal with the elephant in the room: Theon's mortality. Or, at least, his aging. So, whose POV would you like to explore that from?
> 
> A. Theon. See his insecurities about growing older while Robb stays the same age.
> 
> B. Robb. See his confusion about why Theon is insecure.


	8. Mortal Folly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains 1/2...eh, 1/4 of a sex scene. Not really enough to justify upping the rating on the whole fic, but do keep in mind it's slightly NSFW.

“Papa, watch this!”

Asher pirouetted on the ice. The red cloak he was so fond of spun out around him, a single spot of color in the snowy meadow.

“Very good,” Theon called.

Asher skated back towards the pond bank. “Don’t you want to join me?” he asked, holding out a hand, offering to help Theon up.

Theon waved him off. “I don’t have ice skates.” A convenient excuse.

Asher cocked his head in confusion. “What are ice skates?”

“Something mortals need to skate on the ice.”

Asher looked down at his own bare feet with even more confusion. Then finally shrugged and headed back out for another round.

Theon sighed and settled back into his spot. There would have been a time when he’d loved to have joined his son out on the ice, even though he had never been particularly good at skating. But over the last year or so, ice just seemed to be…less inviting. More of an actual threat. And he’d had the bruises up and down his thighs to prove it, much to Robb’s horror.

He sighed. Robb had freaked out after he’d fallen on the icy palace steps last week. And even though Theon had waved his husband off, he was actually quite grateful to come away with only a bruised ass. At least he hadn’t broken anything. His time with Ramsay, much as he didn’t want to think about it, had left his bones more brittle than they should be.

From out on the frozen pond, Asher waved to him, and he waved back. He was happy watching. That was fine.

“Well, hello, stranger.”

He bolted upright at the voice, not more than ten paces behind him. He whirled, flinging snow everywhere, and found himself staring at someone he had not seen in a long, long time. “Asha.”

She looked older than when he’d seen her last, but still undeniably the same. Her dark hair was cut short, and her eyes still held the same mischievous glint to them. Her clothing had changed though. She wore a man’s doublet and pants, all in green leather with gold embroidery. Theon’s first thought was that she was not dressed appropriately for Always Winter.

She cocked her head and smiled at him, and even though there were lines on her face now, it was still the same smile she’d given him when he was a child, the kind that said, “I know more than you, Theon. I’ll _always_ know more than you.”

“Fancy meeting you here, baby brother.”

Theon jumped to his feet and threw his arms around her, and was surprised when she hugged back. She had a mortal warmth to her as she pulled his head into the crook of her neck.

“Asha, I never thought I’d see you again.” He’d known she was alive and in Fairy; Arya had told him of her encounter with an Asha Greyjoy, though it was her description of the mortal as “belligerent” that had convinced Theon it was truly his sister. Still, the fairy realm was a big place.

“I finally got around to looking for you,” she said.

When they parted, Theon realized Asher had stopped skating and come over to see what the fuss was about. “I know you,” he said. “Aunt Arya says you’re my Aunt Asha.”

“Last time I saw you, you were only up to here,” Asha said, gesturing to about the height of her stomach.

Asher beamed and stood to his full height. “I’m ten now.”

“My, growing into a handsome young man, just like your father.” Asha turned to Theon and tossed a jovial hand onto his shoulder. It was a more sisterly gesture than he’d ever gotten from her. They’d had a tentative alliance as children, the two of them against their father and brothers, but nothing that could be described as _close_ , per se. He wondered at the change in her demeanor, though he must be changed as well. “You look good, little brother. Hmm…”

She leaned in closer, narrowing her eyes in scrutiny.

“What?” Was there something on his face or…?

She reached out and plucked a hair off his head.

“Ow.”

She twirled the strand in her fingers and held it up for him to see. It was as white as the snow around them. “I see where your little ankle biter gets his white hair from.”

Theon suddenly felt self-conscious and ran a hand through his hair, his scalp still tingling slightly.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Asha said, letting the strand of hair fall from her fingers. “Mother went gray early too, remember?”

“Right,” Theon agreed hollowly.

Asha clapped him on the shoulder again. “I didn’t come here to tease you. Or, at least, not _just_ to tease you. When Margaery heard I was going to look for my brother in Always Winter, she asked me to ask after someone.”

“Margaery?”

“My…other.” Asha’s face turned pink. Theon couldn’t ever remember seeing his sister blush before. She coughed awkwardly and changed the subject back. “She told me to ask after your sister-in-law.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. I have two.” And two brothers-in-law. And Jon, who was as good as a brother. A whole family. He wondered if Asha had found a new family as well. He rather hoped she had.

She frowned in thought. “Yara? Arya? Something like that. Margaery says she hates Queen Cersei.”

“With a passion,” Theon affirmed.

“We’re going to kill her. Queen Cersei, I mean, not your good sister.”

Theon blinked. He remembered the tall, golden Queen of the Unseelie, how she had laughed at his curtsey, how her terrible son had kissed him just to anger Ramsay. How composed and terrifying she was. His initial thought was to try to talk her out of it, but he quickly dismissed that. He doubted anyone had ever talked Asha out of anything. Instead, he said, “In that case, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

They walked back to the Winter Palace together, Asher running ahead, and talked of their years in Fairy. It was pleasant to catch up, though he couldn’t seem to get rid of the tingling in his scalp where she had plucked out that hair.

That night, after a dinner in which Arya had vowed to aid Margaery and Asha in their plan to kill the Unseelie Queen, he stood in front of the mirror in his and Robb’s bedroom, combing his head for stray white hairs. And sure enough, he found perhaps half a dozen, so stark against his normally dark hair he was surprised he’d never noticed before.

Perhaps he hadn’t noticed because Robb quite literally hadn’t aged a day in all the years they’d been together. It was easy to lose track of time when everyone around you remained the same.

Theon studied his face. The gauntness he’d developed during his time with Ramsay had long since filled in, though there were lingering signs. He still had a slight hollowness under his eyes, but that had always been there. What hadn’t always been there were the lines around his mouth, on his forehead, between his eyebrows. He smiled and grimaced, causing the lines to deepen as he moved his face.

He put a hand to his throat. Was the skin under his chin flabby? Sagging? It felt a bit loose.

In a sudden panic, he yanked his nightshirt off over his head, leaving himself bare in the face of the mirror. The image reflected back at him was sad. Undefined chest, thin arms, a very noticeable paunch. An enormous turning-to-yellow bruise on his thigh where he’d fallen on the ice. He felt the stretch marks along his belly. Although Asher had undeniably left marks on his body, the truth of the matter was…he had really let himself go.

He’d become lazy, complacent. Because fairies were eternally young and effortlessly beautiful, he’d forgotten that he wasn’t. That he was mortal.

 

***

 

Robb came up for bed to find his husband furiously (and nakedly) doing sit ups on the floor in the middle of their room. And doing so with some difficulty.

“Se…ven…” he huffed, only to collapse on his back, breathing heavily.

Robb ran to his side. “Theon?”

Theon looked up in surprise, then embarrassment, then scrambled to reach for his nightshirt, discarded nearby. He clutched it to his chest, as he if were ashamed to be seen naked by his own husband. “I wasn’t expecting you up here so quickly. Weren’t you going to try to talk Arya out of joining my sister for her revenge?”

“It’s not my place to tell Arya what she can and can’t do.” Robb sat down next to him, felt him flinch as he put a hand on his bare back. “What were you doing?”

“I was just…” His face turned red, and he hadn’t quite caught his breath. He trailed off, chewed his lower lip, then said, “I think I need to see someone with healing magic.”

That sent a jolt of fear racing up Robb’s back. He gripped Theon’s shoulders and spun him around so they were face-to-face. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you sick?”

“No.” Theon refused to meet his eyes. “I’m…I’m old.”

Robb just stared for a moment. “What?”

“I’m old!” Theon repeated, more harshly. “I’m old and fat and getting gray hair and I need healing magic to make me young again.”

Robb still wasn’t sure he understood. “You’re not—”

“Can healing magic make me young again?” Theon interrupted. Then he stared into his lap, with the nightshirt draped over it. “Can it keep me young…forever…like you?”

The fear in his back turned to lead in his stomach—a different kind of fear. Not an immediate one, but an inevitable one. “No,” he whispered, as if saying it softly would make it less true. “Healing magic just puts a body back together.”

“But my body is falling apart!” Theon protested.

“It’s changing,” Robb agreed. “That’s what mortals do. They change. Healing magic won’t stop that.”

“There has to be something.” Theon gripped him by the shoulders and held him tight, imploring. “My mother used to tell me stories about fairies who could grant long life and eternal youth to mortals.”

Robb frowned. He knew those stories well. “Did she tell you what those mortals had to give up in return?”

“A soul isn’t anything,” Theon said.

“Don’t say that!” Robb snapped.

Theon recoiled in surprise.

“Don’t say that,” Robb said again, reaching out gently for Theon’s wrist. Theon allowed himself to be pulled close. “You think I haven’t spent time thinking about this as well, how to keep you with me for as long as possible?” He laughed mirthlessly into Theon’s hair. “I would do anything to let you live even just a day beyond your mortal lifespan…but not at the price of your soul. Not at the price of everything I love about you.”

He felt hot tears on his shoulder, and Theon trembling in his grip. “Then make me younger, at least. There must be a glamour or…”

“A glamour will only make you _look_ young.”

“Then let me look young. Let me keep my dignity as I grow old.”

“Shh,” Robb hushed. “You won’t lose your dignity.”

“You won’t say that when I’m old and ugly.” He laughed. “Old _er_ and ugli _er_.”

“None of that.” In one smooth movement, Robb scooped Theon up into his arms and carried him to the bed. Set him down on the soft mattress and gently tugged the nightshirt out of his hands, leaving him bare and spread out beneath him. “I don’t care if you’re a withered old man, you could never be ugly to me.”

Theon stared up at him incredulously. “You’re just saying that.”

Robb could have said something, but instead he decided to _prove_ Theon wrong. He ground his hips against his husband’s, enjoying Theon’s widening eyes as he felt his arousal through his pants. “If you think you can impress a fairy by being pretty, you haven’t spent enough time among the fair folk.”

“You’re _all_ pretty,” Theon said, but he didn’t protest as Robb lowered himself to kiss at his throat.

“Exactly,” Robb purred into the crook of his neck. “It’s all nothing. It _means_ nothing. I did not marry you because I found you pleasing to my eyes.” He went lower with his lips, brushing Theon’s chest, his stomach and hips. “Although…I _do_ find you pleasing to my eyes.”

“You can’t,” Theon insisted, squirming and clutching the sheets. “You can’t possibly.”

Robb kissed the inside of his thigh. “I love exploring your body,” he said, and felt Theon shudder as his breath raised goosebumps along the flesh there. “You have no idea how fascinating you are.”

_How perfectly imperfect_ , though he didn’t think Theon would really appreciate that as the compliment it was. Mortals thought imperfection was wrong, a mistake. To Robb, imperfection spoke of a body shaped by life and experience, a uniqueness that couldn’t be duplicated no matter how hard you tried.

“I love your soul. I love your body.”

Theon was fully hard now, and Robb licked a slow, lazy stripe up his shaft and ended with a kiss on the tip. Theon groaned and threw his head back. “Y…you’re pretty good with your mouth,” he gasped. “In more ways than one.” Panting, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked down the length of his body. “Will you still say all that when I’m old and can’t get my dick up any more, no matter how hard you’re working your fairy charms on me?”

Robb smiled up at him and quirked an eyebrow in challenge. “I’ve never thought you were one to lack…imagination.”

Theon’s eyebrows shot.

“But if you can’t think of any alternatives…” Robb shrugged. “Well, healing magic _can_ help with that. Though…” Robb blew gently on his husband’s cock. “It doesn’t look like you need any healing magic right now.”

Theon sank back onto the bed, a smirk on his face. No hint of skepticism left. “The only magic I need right now…is your mouth.”

Robb smiled and then obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm wrapping this fic up. The next chapter will be the last, so I'm ending on an open-ended question.
> 
> What would you like to see in the final chapter?


	9. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for major character death, but with a happy ending, I swear!

Asher grew into a fine young man. And then stopped growing. At sixteen, he proved true to his kind and stopped aging as a mortal does.

Likewise, Theon proved true to _his_ kind and _did_ continue to age. He became slower in his movements, rising from bed in the morning, climbing up and down steps, for which Robb developed infinite patience. He would sometimes catch his husband rubbing his knuckles or his knees, as if in pain. His hair became as white as Asher’s, and he became more stooped with each year. His appetite decreased, and no matter how Robb urged him to eat, he simply couldn’t seem to keep his weight up. Although his mind was as sharp as ever, his body had become frail so that Robb worried about him going outside in a strong breeze.

One day, seventy years after their wedding day, Robb woke with a gentle hand to his forehead. “I had a dream,” Theon told him in a raspy voice, barely above a whisper. “I’ll be gone by the day’s end.”

“No.” Robb clutched his hand tight, felt the brittle bones in his grip. “Don’t say that.”

Theon smiled up at him. He had such deep smile lines. His eyes crinkled. “I don’t want to leave you, Robb, but at the same time, I’ve had more happiness in my life than I ever thought possible.” He cupped Robb’s face. “I know I’m going to die soon. I know it, just as deeply as I knew I loved you the first time I met you. I have no regrets. Even after everything, all the mistakes I made… After all, I helped Jeyne, I helped the mortals Ramsay would have hurt after me. I can’t…bring myself to regret that, as stupid as I was back then.” He laughed, a tired laugh but still full of joy. “No regrets. How many mortals—how many _people_ can say that?”

Robb felt tears gather in his eyes. “I’ll fetch a healer for you.”

He started to get up, but Theon grabbed for him. His grip was so weak, and yet it held Robb firmly in place. “Don’t go,” he said. “Stay in bed with me.”

Robb had never been able to deny his husband anything, and so he pulled Theon close, his body so small and fragile against his own.

“Promise me,” Theon said, “you’ll find someone to make you happy again, after I’m gone.”

Robb couldn’t even begin to think about that, but he nodded wordlessly anyway.

“I love you,” Theon said.

“I love you too,” Robb said.

They stayed like that, holding each other. Sometime later, Robb felt the familiar heartbeat stop, and the warm breath against his throat cease.

 

***

 

It was a clear day when Robb laid his husband to rest in the forest, under an ancient willow tree, with Theon’s family in attendance.

Queen Margaery of the Unseelie and her consort, Asha Greyjoy, arrived with flowers from Always Spring. Asha, aged hands trembling, laid them on her brother’s grave, and then had to be helped to her feet again.

“I guess I’m always just a few steps behind him,” she said. “He made it into Fairy before me and now he’s made it…wherever he is now.” She raised her head as a soft wind blew through her gray hair. “I have a feeling I’ll be joining him before too long.”

Robb had no doubts she would face that day the same way Theon had: with no regrets. She had been with Margaery all these years, serving her queen since their successful coup of the Unseelie Court. Queen Cersei was dead, at the point of a blade, though Asha and Arya notoriously still argued over who had dealt the killing blow. Crown Prince Joffrey had attempted to step into his mother’s shoes, only to meet the same fate as “King” Viserys of the Solitary Fairies. That is to say, the Unseelie smelled his weakness and tore him to shreds—quite literally, according to some of the more gruesome accounts. Margaery had her work cut out for her, continually asserting her physical power among her court, but she and Asha seemed up to the task.

Theon would be happy knowing his sister was happy.

Theon’s other brothers and sisters were there as well, of course.

There was Jon, grim and stern-faced and silent. It seemed that, ever since Maragery’s coup, he’d become even less keen on the whole Crown Prince thing. Robb had long known he’d been envious of Theon, living away from politics and raising a family, but perhaps he would soon be following in his mortal friend’s footsteps. Robb didn’t see any trace of the non-trooping fairy he’d recently been courting—ahem, who had been courting _him_. The woman with the literal fiery hair and mischievous smirk. Jon seemed more comfortable in his skin whenever she was around, and Robb wondered if Jon would soon leave the Royal Palace altogether to be with her more often. Queen Danaerys would not be pleased if Jon decided to defect from the Seelie Court, but she would live.

There was Sansa, who had allowed her hair to turn red once more and who, in the past few years, had started venturing back into the mortal realm on her own. She wore a white dress to the funeral. “I already mourned Theon’s death once,” she said, “when I thought the mortals, in their cruelty, had killed him. I won’t mourn him now, when I know he was happy and loved.” She brushed her fingers along the dirt of his freshly dug grave. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for all the ways you’ve helped me.”

The others were there as well. Arya, who had set aside her smiling mask for the occasion; Bran; Rickon and his wife, a mortal woman named Shireen Baratheon; the duke and duchess, both looking genuinely aggrieved. And, of course, Asher.

He looked so much like his father, his papa. He was a sensitive boy, like Theon had been, a boy who worried about others but also had a shyness born of the need to protect himself. He fled quickly but loved deeply. He never hid his gentle and caring nature, since he’d never had to—Theon had made sure of it. He’d cultivated kindness in the boy, and compassion and empathy.

 _I know he’ll make you proud_ , _Theon_ , Robb thought as the wind kicked up, ruffling cloaks and skirts and hair. _He’s going to carry on your memory, and so will I_.

 

***

 

Robb knelt on the riverbank and ran his hands through the water, watching as it slowed and froze around his fingers. A leaf, still lingering from autumn, drifted down and became trapped in the ice. In the morning, when the mortals woke up, they would know that winter had arrived. The village had changed since Theon’s time—the streets paved to make way for cars, power lines running from house to house—but perhaps somewhere, a mother was telling her children about the Winter Prince and how he still brought winter to Ramsgate.

Satisfied, Robb stood and made his way back to the forest, still untouched after all these years, as if the mortals knew not to venture there.

He stopped by the small graveyard on the outskirts of town to make sure no snow covered the names on the graves there. _Jeyne Payne, nee Poole, beloved wife and mother_.

The gravestone was cracked from age. She had died long, long ago, and yet the date carved in the stone told that she had lived a respectable age for mortals of the time, and the many graves surrounding her told that she’d had a large family, filled with children and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. There were still Paynes about. They ran a bed and breakfast for the many tourists who came to see the quaint, centuries-old village in the countryside. Jeyne’s descendant was running for reelection as mayor, unopposed.

 _Jeyne, they remember you more than they remember me_ , Robb thought, and couldn’t bring himself to feel saddened by it.

Nobody seemed to remember Theon, though. He had no grave here, in the mortal realm. None of the town’s records mentioned his name. He had been spirited away, vanished. It saddened Robb that there were no mortals left to mourn his lover.

Some days, it felt as if his heart kept beating merely to spite him. He’d thrown himself into his role as Winter Prince, to keep his mind busy, to ward off thoughts of ever finding someone to replace Theon. Such a person didn’t exist. Not in the mortal realm and not in the fairy realm. For the past twenty mortal years, he had brought winter to Ramsgate—the first frost, the first snowfall. Twenty years—the blink of an eye, the span of a heartbeat for a fairy—and yet it felt like an eternity to Robb.

 _Twenty-one_ , he thought as he walked through the snow, leaving not even a footstep in his wake. The forest was still and silent as he made his way back to the fairy grove. It, like the village, had changed. The trees were taller now, thicker, more crowded.

As he approached, he was startled to see someone standing there, kneeling in the snow. A thoroughly modern hooded winter jacket concealed their face. A mortal. He should have sensed this person sooner. Although he thought he was fairly well-hidden, the moment he stepped foot within the circle of trees, the person spun and stared straight at him. It was a young man, his face thin, his lips full. It was not his face that was familiar, however; it was his eyes. True, they were not the right color, but they were undeniably the ones Robb had spent years waking up to. He would know them anywhere.

The young man looked back at him in confusion, no hint of recognition on his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were giving tours this early.”

“Tours?” Robb asked.

“Are you not a tour guide? I guess I just assumed because of the…” The young man gestured to his clothing, and Robb realized he must look very strange to this mortal, dressed in clothing from several centuries past. “So, what are you doing out here at the crack of dawn dressed like Robin Hood?”

“I was…bringing winter,” Robb said.

The young man smiled, and not in an entirely mocking way. “Yeah?” He looked around the grove, his face the picture of wonder. “It’s pretty special here, isn’t it? I came here yesterday and I just…I had to see it again before I headed back to school today. Do you ever feel like you’ve been somewhere before, when you obviously haven’t?”

“I’ve been many places,” Robb answered. “But you’re right, this place is very special.”

The young man looked at him again, eyebrows creased. “Did I see you yesterday in town? You look…so familiar.”

“Perhaps we met in another life.”

The young man had Theon’s smile. “I mean, as far as pickup lines go, I’ve heard worse.” He stood and dusted the snow from his pants. “I’m Theo. You want to give me your phone? I’ll give you my number.”

“Ah…I don’t have a phone.”

“Really?” Theo’s eyes widened.

Robb shrugged. “There’s no need out here.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Theo looked around. “Must be nice. Sometimes I wish I could just throw my phone away. Hop in my car and leave everything behind.” He sighed and pulled his hood back. His hair was not the right color, just a shade off. “So, I’ve got a few hours before I have to hit the road. I don’t suppose you’d like to…spend them with me.”

Robb smiled and bowed at the waist. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Wow,” Theo laughed, “you really _are_ like something out of another time. Not that I mind. It’s kinda hot.”

His laughter trailed off as Robb locked gazes with him. There was a spark there, just a slight widening of the eyes, a flaring of the nostrils. For a moment, everything around them was utterly still.

“Your breath,” Theo said. “It’s not…”

Looking a bit uncertain, he opened his mouth and expelled a puff of breath that hung in the air before dissipating back into the cold. He looked to Robb, doubtless watching for the telltale cloud signifying a warm mortal breath. One which would not come.

Theo glanced around the grove again before looking back to Robb. “You… _are_ something from another time, aren’t you?”

Robb gave him a curt nod.

Theo took in a sharp breath. “I knew it. I knew things like you had to exist. My mother told me stories about the fair folk in the woods, but I always, deep down, felt like they must be real. I _felt_ it.”

“You’re not frightened?”

Theo shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Robb took a step closer, but Theo did not flinch. “Do you still wish to spend the morning with me?”

“Are you _kidding_?” Theo gasped, his face breaking into a wide, open-mouthed grin. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you.”

Robb chuckled and brushed a hand along Theo’s face. “I’ve been waiting your whole life too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was ridiculously self-indulgent and I had so much fun. Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting.


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